Spawn: Born Again
by bcampo
Summary: It's about Spawn finding his place in the alleys questioned, the power of faith, and the wonder of little miracles. Story complete.
1. Little Miracles

Spawn : Enhanced Image # 1 Spawn: Born Again 

# 1 

by [Brian Campo][1] (bcampo@hotmail.com)   


**This is a work of fan fiction.** Spawn and all related characters are owned by Todd McFarlane Productions, and I do not contest that ownership. This story is in no way official and it should not be taken as such. All characters in this story not owned by Mr.McFarlane are owned by me, though I would gladly loan them out if asked nicely. 

**Warning:** This story may contain graphic violence, sexual situations and harsh language. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't. 

Little Miracles 

New York's Bowery is a place of secrets. Secret people, secret objects, and secret places. In these twisting and turning alleys a wrong turn could wind up with you standing at the gates of heaven, or the gates of hell. Tap the wrong person on the shoulder and the face that turns to you could be that of an angel or a madman. Does that door open into a rat infested store room, or if you open it would you be staring out into the cold expanse of space? Once you become aware of the secrets of this place you start to question every thing you do here. What will the consequences be? What will I unleash? How will I be changed?   
There are two types of people that live here in the Bowery's alleys. First, there are those who live in ignorance of the place's secrets. They live out their normal lives, soaking up the booze and scrounging for food in dumpsters, unaware that they are living in a place of little miracles and spiritual turbulence. Every once in a while one of them might stumble across one of the secrets of the Bowery, and if they survive the experience, they tell the tale to others. Most of the time their stories are passed off as drunken hallucinations or outright lies. People can even convince themselves that they didn't see what they actually saw. Most people can't accept the idea that there might be more out there than they have been lead to believe their whole lives. They sleep better at night thinking that the world is a mundane place, predictable and safe.   
Then there are those who know it's secrets and they know enough of the world to live here comfortably. They find security in the labyrinth of allies and the barricades of garbage. They use them to their advantage, hiding themselves in the squalor from the eyes of their enemies.   
These people can be found, if you know the path to their lairs. If you know which turns to take at what alleys. If you know whether the brick wall at dead end of an alley is really an illusion covering up a trap or a doorway. If you can tell the difference and find the doorway, then you walk some more. If you know to hold your breath and close your eyes when you walk past the old wooden indian. If you know not to step in the bottomless mud puddles. If you know what words to say when you pass under the dumpster that's precariously balanced on the fire escape. If you know all these things and more, then you will find your self in front of a massive set of oak doors.   
There is a method to opening these doors. A close examination will reveal that they are covered in carvings. The wonders of the ages are depicted here in this wood, molded by some master artist's hand. Here you can see the great battles and events of history. Not the ones you read about in history books, mind you. No, these are the ones that mattered. The battles where a loss on the side of good would have meant the end of everything. Everything.   
The secret to opening the doors is in these carvings. If you know which points of what pictures to touch and in what order to touch them, the doors will open for you. You will find yourself at the threshold of the lair of one Count Allesandro di Cogliostro, known around these parts as Cog. 

Cog shuffled through his lair, navigating through the piles of junk while he strained under the weight of the book he carried in his arms. The book was a three thousand page volume, full of image plates and heavy paper and weighing a little over fifty pounds. This was his journal, a record of his studies over the last seventy five years. He had dozens more of them hidden away here in his lair. Contained in these books was knowledge that had overthrown governments, toppled religions, and vanquished devils. They were not to be taken lightly.   
He approached his work desk and took note of the white, long haired cat that was sleeping there. He smiled and slowed his steps, tiptoeing slowly the last ten feet to the desk. The cat's ear twitched and he stopped in midstep. It remained asleep so he took two more quiet steps, bringing himself right up in front of the desk. He hefted the book, raising it shakily to shoulder level. He took a deep breath and dropped the book, letting it fall to the desk. The book landed with a loud WHUMP!, instantly getting a reaction out of the cat.   
It jumped two feet vertical, claws extended and hissing. It's fur puffed out making it look twice as big as it actually was. When it landed back on the desk, it took in it's surroundings and spotted Cog, who was at this point cackling and pointing his finger at the cat. The cat fixed him with one of those hateful glares that only cats can do and then it slunk off of the desk and into the shadows.   
When his laughter had calmed down to chuckles, Cog opened his book seven eighths of the way to the end. He flipped a few more pages and found where he had stopped writing the last time he had worked on the journal. He reached over the desk and picked up a feather pen, which he dipped in an inkwell and dabbed on an ink stained rag.   
Next, he turned to his left, to a tall flat object covered in cloth. He pulled off the cloth, revealing a full length mirror with a gilded frame. The glass of the mirror was dark, providing only a dimly lit reflection of the man looking into it. He stared at it for a few seconds before turning back to his journal. Crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his chin with his index finger, he read the last couple of lines he had written and considered them. In a few moments, he made a decision and turned to face the mirror.   
"Mirror." he said. "If Pudervrag were to take over the sixth level of Hell, how would the rulers of other levels react?"   
The glass of the mirror clouded over, lighting up as the same time. The swirling clouds began to form into shapes and reveal images, scenes of battles involving demons and hellspawn. The images shifted and then focused on secret meetings of devils and demons. The images changed again, with different devils pairing off and forming armies.   
Cog knew that the mirror wasn't showing him the future, it was showing him glimpses of possible futures based on what he had asked it. He wrote in the book while he watched the mirror, taking notes and composing theories on what it was showing him. To anyone else, all these random images might be useless. To him, they were a way for him to map possible futures, and to prepare for them. He'd stayed ahead of the game for centuries by doing this, by knowing at critical moments which way the tide of a battle was likely to go or to know which angel was having thoughts of going rogue. It helped him to know who to make alliances with and who was most likely to be dead next month or next year.   
Cog was a shrewd old man, a little mouse who had managed to stay alive in a battle with lions. He had snuck his way down through history, using his tools and tricks to hide from those who might recognize him for the threat that he really was. He hid away and gathered his magical objects and he practiced his magical skills, and he waited for the time to take action.   
Lately, his instinct was telling him that the time for action was near. The apocalyptic wars that he glimpsed in his mirrors and crystal balls and magic pools didn't seem to be distant events anymore. They seemed to take place in a world that looked a hell of a lot like the one right outside his door. Cog knew that he should trust those instincts, that the end times were here.   
In the mirror, a flag waved in the middle of a burning fortress. Bodies lay in piles on the ground, and misshapen forms were tugging, pulling, and gnawing at them. The look of the place said hell to Cog, but he wasn't sure what level. He leaned in toward the mirror, trying to get a better look at the symbols on the flag.   
There was a flash of white on the mirror, and it took Cog a moment to realize that it wasn't one of the mirrors images. It was a reflection of something in the room with Cog.   
"Over your little tissy already?" he said as he turned, expecting to see his white cat sitting there on his desk. He didn't even get halfway turned around. Something heavy struck him from behind and he was knocked head first into the mirror. The glass yielded him before him like water, and then sprang back into place when he had passed through it.   
In the mirror's reflection, Cog rolled over a couple of times and then came to a stop. He got slowly to his feet while he looked around and took in his surroundings. His gaze came round to the mirror and a look of horror appeared on his face. He ran towards the mirror and began to beat against the glass. The glass stood solid, and when Cog began to shout in rage, there was only silence. 

True story. In 1968 two children were playing in an abandoned tenement building in New York's Bowery. In one of the garbage strewn rooms they found the body of a man who had been dead for several weeks. The police came, bagged the body and took it away. An autopsy revealed that the man had died from heroin over dose. They tried several different methods to identify the man but had no luck at it. He was just one of a hundred such cases that they got each week. He was tagged as a John Doe and then buried under that name. One year later his fingerprints were finally matched and the nameless corpse was given an identity. It turns out that the man was named Bobby Driscol. As a child he had done quite a few movies for Disney, most notably the voice for Peter Pan in the animated feature.   
Nothing defines these alleys as much as that story does. That's what these alleys do, they take innocence and they start to beat it down. They soil it, they kick it, they rape it, they hook it on some chemical and when they're done with it they leave it lying behind some dumpster to cool.   
The process that leads you to this place of discarded people is gradual. It's not like you become a homeless person over night. It takes you more than twenty four hours to get to the point where you will eat food out of a garbage heap that you just fought a dog for. It's little steps that bring you to this place.   
Maybe it's starts when you and your wife split up. After child support payments and alimony you don't have a lot of money left, so you take a run down little apartment down town that you can afford. That was one step. One day you wake up and your car has thrown a rod and getting across town to work gets to be a challenge every morning. Another step taken. You manage for a little while, but then one day you get mugged in the subway. Your rent money is gone, and there's nothing you can do about it. If your lucky, the landlord has a heart and lets the rent go until you can pay him again. You're getting closer, now. You get sick. So sick you can't go to work. The land lord's charity runs out and you take what little money you have and rent a cockroach infested hotel room even farther down town. You're getting close to the alleys now. If you open the window you can whiff the stench of it. The garbage rots in the narrow corridors below you. The reek of urine, shit, and booze nauseates you the first time you smell it. In another month you don't even notice that you smell like that. By then you're lying on a stack of newspapers and a Kenmore washer box is your only cover from a dirty rain that smells like it's laden with chemicals. No one notices that you've disappeared from the face of the earth except for your ex wife, who is now telling your kids that your a deadbeat.   
This is a dismal place, full of people either waiting for things to get better, or waiting to die. Dying wouldn't be so bad. There would finally be an end to that gnawing in your belly and the chill in your muscles that you can never seem to get rid of. You start cursing when you wake up in the morning and find that you haven't died in your sleep. 

Spawn awoke from a light sleep, the sound that had awoken him still ringing in his ears. He sat still upon his throne of garbage and listened, hoping to hear it again.   
A moment later, he did hear it again. It was laughter. Strange laughter, though. A joyful laugh. You didn't get many of those around here. You might hear a drunken guffaw, maybe a sadistic chuckle, but the sounds of joy were a rare thing indeed.   
The laughter continued, and now Spawn could hear other voices joining it. Someone was clapping and shouting out, "Go, boy! Go! Look at that boy go!"   
His curiosity was piqued. Spawn got to his feet and stepped down off of the pile of refuse before heading out to investigate the source of the laughter he was hearing. He followed his ears through the twisting and turning corridors, trying to determine where the voices was coming from. He got closer and closer, and the voices of the men became more distinct. He recognized Bobbie's voice, and that of Frank Harrell. They were encouraging somebody to do something, what he could not tell.   
He turned another corner and came upon them. He stopped just shy of stepping out of the alley and just stood there watching quietly.   
The center of their attention was a man named Jeremy Patnum, one of the many homeless bums that lived here in the alleys. Jeremy had a badly deformed left leg that made walking without a crutch impossible. At least he used to. He was hopping and skipping in circles around Bobby and Frank while they clapped and cheered him on. He stopped and did a clumsy little jig, which elicited another round of laughter from his two person audience.   
Spawn had seen enough. He cleared his throat and the laughter died instantly. The three bums turned and spotted him standing in the mouth of the alley.   
"Hey, Al." said Bobby. "We didn't see you standing there."   
"What's all the ruckus?" asked Spawn. He stepped forward, and the bums gave him plenty of room to move.   
"It's a miracle." Frank told him. "There's this fella that's been preaching here in the alleys for the last couple of days and he healed Jeremy's leg and made it good as new."   
"Hmmm." growled the hellspawn. His eyes narrowed into slits and he looked down at the bums leg. Jeremy lifted his right leg and rested all his weight on the what used to be his bad leg. "Who did this?"   
"His name is Timothy Rice." said Frank. "He's been healing people left and right all day long. Remember how bad Carl Payne's teeth were? This fella Rice touched him on the jaw and all of his teeth straightened out and cleaned themselves. They look like a pair of dentures, they're so perfect. I saw him heal one guy of cataracts. Just cleared his eyes right up. I swear, Al, it's something to see."   
Spawn stayed quiet and let them talk.   
"I have a bad ringing in my right ear." said Frank. "I'm thinking about asking him to pray for me."   
"Hey!" said Bobby, suddenly having an idea. "Maybe you could go see him, Al. Maybe he could do something about your face."   
"Or maybe a personality." Jeremy muttered quietly.   
Spawn ignored that comment but raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "You too? I would have thought you were too level headed to fall for this nonsense."   
"Seeing is believing, Al." said Bobby. "I watched what this Rice man did, and it's for real. I believe that God is using that man."   
Bobby wasn't the kind of guy to get suckered into a line of bullshit. He had a good head on his shoulders and could usually smell a scam from a mile away. Spawn wondered if there wasn't some truth to what they were telling him. If there was, he wasn't sure if he liked the idea of anyone with holy powers, benevolent or otherwise, running around in his alleys.   
"I think that I would like to see this "Miracle Man" for myself. Which one of you wants to show me the way?"   
"Now, just hold on a second here, Al." stuttered Bobby. "Mr. Rice hasn't done anything to anybody. You're not going to go down there and rough him up or anything, are you?"   
Spawn fixed Bobby with a stone faced stare and said, "Since when do I have to run my plans by you, Bobby?"   
"I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm just trying to say that this Mr. Rice is a good man. He's only trying to help people, that's all. You don't see a lot of those kind of people around here, and it would be an awful thing if he was to get hurt when he's just trying to help people."   
"Have I ever hurt anybody that didn't have it coming?"   
Bobby shrugged. "No, but you've been known to over react, Al. Not everybody who comes down to these alleys is your enemy, you know. You always expect the worst from people."   
"And most of the time those people deliver."   
"But not everybody is out to get you. Take us bums for instance. You trust us. Don't you?"   
"Well, it's like you said. Seeing is believing. Show him to me. If he's not doing anything wrong then he'll never know I'm there."   
Bobby looked at Spawn, more than a little suspicious. "Really? You'll leave him alone?"   
Spawn nodded and said, "Just lead the way. If he's everything you say he is, he's got nothing to worry about from me."   
Bobby hesitated for a moment more and then he said, "I'll take you, but you have to remember your promise."   
Spawn agreed and followed Bobby off to see the Miracle Man. 

The alleys are a place of legends. There are the stories of the bag lady that was hit by a car. When they dug down through her shopping cart of junk they found brown paper bags filled with cash. She had lived out of the garbage and all the while was pushing around thousands of dollars with her. They say that she used to hide some of her bags of money in abandoned buildings, and there are those bums who are always looking for her treasure. Is the story true? No one knows for sure, but there are some older street urchins who claim they used to hear that same story back in the fifties, only the woman pushed around a baby carriage back then.   
There are the legends of rats that escaped from a local research lab and they live in the alleys now. These rats are as big as a small dog and they hunt in packs. Usually they feed on stray cats, but every once in a while they will catch a bum alone and they overpower him and tear him to shreds. Sometimes, rat gnawed corpses are found in the alleys and some consider this to be evidence that the legends are true.   
One legends says that the government has started spraying the dumpsters of the alleys with poison, hoping to solve New York's homeless problem. Sometimes a bum will get food poisoning from some rancid food that he had eaten and there are always those that nod and say, "See? They're trying to kill us off."   
Spawn started off as just another legend. A few years back people started talking about a dark figure that they had spotted creeping through some back alley. Over the coming months, the sightings began to get more and more frequent. The old timers would say, "Oh, these alleys have always had boogie men. Not one of them was real." This boogie man was persistent, though. He started to make his presence felt all over the Bowery. He seemed to be attracted to violence and evil men. He showed up when someone was in danger and killed their attackers. Where ever he appeared he left death and destruction in his wake.   
The predators of these alleys tried to convince themselves that this boogie man was just a legend, or just something the bums had cooked up to scare them off. If they kept trying to apply their muscle in the alleys, however, they were quickly proven wrong. There was something lurking in the shadows of the Bowery and he didn't hand out second chances. If you crossed his path, you disappeared, never to be heard from again.   
Gradually, Spawn's territory became defined. The dealers and the pimps knew where the lines were drawn, and they steered clear of them. The gangs knew to take their shady dealings elsewhere. The bums from surrounding neighborhoods began to migrate into this little corner of the Bowery, seeking the protection of whatever was haunting this place. Even to this day, many of them had never actually seen Spawn. But they believed he lived here. They had faith.   
To them, he had moved past legend and become a reality. 

"Can you feel him here with us?" asked the preacher in a voice just a little above a whisper. There were a couple heart felt amens from the crowd of bums around him. "He's here right now, and he's asking for you to open your hearts and let him in."   
From a second story broken window, Spawn watched Timothy Rice talk to the hundred or so bums that were gathered in the vacant lot around him. Rice looked like he was in his mid twenties, clean cut with a midwestern wholesomeness to him. He wore a white, short sleeved, button up shirt with a black tie and black, neatly creased slacks. He held in his left hand a white leather-bound bible, the kind that had a zipper on the side so that the pages inside could be protected. He wielded the bible like a wand, waving it in the air and jabbing it at his congregation to emphasize his sentences. He was, for all appearances, very fired up about God.   
"Do you think that this is how God wants you to live? Do you think he wants you to be hungry and sick all of the time? He loves you. You're his children. Would you want your children to live like this? Neither does he. He wants to help you, but you've turned from him. You've put your faith in other things. Alcohol. Drugs. Sex. He's waiting there with open arms, but you're too busy with your vices to notice him.   
How many of you believe that the Lord can you pull you out of this mire that you've trapped yourself in?"   
There were some murmurs of agreement from the bums. One older woman raised her hands in the air and said, "I believe, Lord."   
Timothy skirted the crowd and made his way to where the old lady was standing. As he got closer to her his expression turned to one of pity.   
"Dear Lord." he said to her. "I sense that you are in a lot of pain, ma'am."   
"It's my back." she replied. It was obvious that it was her back. She had such a bad case of osteoporosis that she could only look at the ground in front of her. Timothy dropped down on his knees in front of the woman so that he could look up at her and see her face.   
"The Lord doesn't want you to be like this. You know that, right?"   
"I know." said the old woman and she gave him a smile. She had to cock her head a little to the right so that she could see him.   
"Do you believe that he can reach down here and touch you right now?"   
"Yes." she said, and she let loose with a sob.   
Timothy got to his feet and dusted off the knees of his trousers. Then he laid one hand on the middle of the woman's back, and the hand that was holding his bible he placed in the middle of her chest. "Dear Lord." he said as he closed his eyes and started to pray. "I know you can see what this child of yours is going through, and we ask that if it is your will that you will reach down here and deliver this woman from her pain. In the name of Jesus, we pray."   
Total silence fell across the crowd of people as they waited to see what would happen.   
"Yes, Lord." said Timothy. "I hear you, Lord."   
The old woman gasped and jerked, like she had been shocked.   
"Yes, Lord." he said again.   
The old woman began to laugh, a happy little cackle. She slowly began to straighten herself and stand up to her full height. "Oh, Praise Jesus." she said. "There's no pain!"   
"See what can happen when you put your trust in the the Lord?" he said to the people gathered around. "He wants to heal you. He wants to help you. All you have to do is believe in him and ask him to come into your hearts." 

Spawn had to admit, he was impressed. Timothy Rice was for real, there was no doubt about that. When he had healed the woman Spawn could feel power moving through the area. The man was definitely tapping into some force or another. He watched Timothy move through the crowd below healing people, and he wondered what he should do about this situation.   
Up to this point he had never tolerated anyone with any kind of powers running around in his alleys (with the exception of Cog). Without fail, they had all ended up trying to kill him. His first instinct was to give Rice the boot, but he had promised the bums that he would leave the man alone. And honestly, the man wasn't doing anything but helping these people. Al didn't like the religious shit that Rice was spreading but he was backing it up with good deeds.   
In the end, he decided that he would let the man stay for now, but if he slipped up and hurt somebody... Well he'd better be in tight with God, because that was the only one who would be able to save him. 

The bums sat and listened to Timothy all day long and into the evening hours. Around sunset he told them that he was going to have to leave. They groaned and asked him to please stay. They even offered to build a bonfire to provide light and keep everyone warm. He thanked them for the offer, but said, "I can't. I really have to go. I'll be back tomorrow, though. I'll be right here a little before noon, so everyone be sure to be here, and bring a friend or two with you."   
"God bless you." said the little old lady that Rice had healed.   
"He already has." Rice replied with a smile. "Look at the friends he has given me."   
He left then, shaking hands with people as he passed through the crowd and listening to their words of encouragement. He thanked them and continued on his way. A few tried to follow him, but he asked them nicely not to. "I'll be back tomorrow." he told them once again. Reluctantly, they let him leave on his own.   
Spawn watched him as he left, and then he raced ahead so that he could catch Rice on the way out of the alleys. He wanted to talk to him alone, lay down some ground rules.   
Rice was making his way through the alleys and out of the Bowery when he heard a voice like grinding gravel call his name.   
"Timothy Rice."   
He stopped in his tracks and looked around. "Hello?"   
"We need to talk, Timothy." A shadow under a fire escape moved, and there was a faint rustling sound. Spawn stepped out of the shadows and into the dim luminescence of the street lights. He gave Timothy time to get a good look at him.   
Timothy looked him over and said, "You must be Al."   
"Someone told you about me?"   
"No, no." Timothy replied. "Your friends are tight lipped folk. It's just that I've heard them whispering about you all day. They seemed concerned that you were going to hurt me." He paused for a second, thinking about what he had just said. " Is that what you intend to do?"   
"Actually, I was going to let you know that you have my permission to come here. I won't hurt you. BUT. If you hurt any of my people I will kill you and leave you hanging up to dry. Am I clear?"   
Timothy put his hands behind his back and bowed his head. Spawn couldn't tell if the man was praying or just thinking about what he had said. Timothy looked up at him and said, "Well, thank you, I suppose. But I don't really need your permission, Al. I believe that if you ever tried to hurt me, my Lord would protect me."   
Spawn's eyes narrowed into slits, and he glared at Rice. "I own these alleys." he said. "Don't try me, Preacher."   
"The one I serve is the one who made the land that these alleys are built on, and he told me to go forth unto all the world and spread his word."   
Spawn did not like the confidence that this fellow had. Most people he just had to threaten and they would agree to whatever he said and beg for their lives. Rice, on the other hand, didn't seem all that concerned with him. He would have to make sure that Rice understood just what he was dealing with. He took a couple steps closer to Rice, hoping to use his size to intimidate his opponent. He towered over the little preacher by at least eighteen inches.   
"You've worn out your welcome." said Spawn. "It would be best if you were on your way."   
"I think that you are scared of me. Why is that?"   
Spawn started to laugh at that. "Scared?! Of you?! You're out of your goddamn mind."   
"Are you really scared that I am going to hurt the people here? Or is this just good old fashion jealousy? Maybe you're not getting the kind of attention that you think you deserve. Maybe you're afraid the bums will stop doing as you say."   
Spawn's chains snapped out from under his cloak and grabbed Rice around his ribcage. He threw the man backwards and slammed him into a wall. Spawn rushed forward until he was right up in Timothy's face. "No more games." said Spawn. "Leave, or I tear you to pieces and leave you for the rats."   
"I rebuke you." said Timothy in a calm voice. "I bind you and I cast you out, in my Lord's name. Be gone, Devil!" Rice raised his bible and smacked it down in the middle of Spawn's forehead.   
A jolt of energy rushed into Spawn. The chains went limp and fell away from Rice's body, allowing the man to fall to the ground. His body stopped responding to him. His arms and legs locked up, paralyzed. His symbiont hung off of him, completely useless.   
Timothy stood up straight and took time to straighten his tie and to press some of the wrinkles out of his shirt. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he looked up at Spawn, who was still standing perfectly still.   
"This will wear off in a few hours. Please remember all of this, Al. The spirit that moves through me is stronger than the spirit that moves through you."   
He walked past Al and started down the length of the alley. After a few steps he stopped and turned around.   
"I'll pray for you." he said.   
And then Spawn was left alone. 

to be continued.... 

Welcome to the first issue of my three issue Spawn mini that I am writing. I hope you like it, and I hope you stick around for the next two issues. If you have any comments, complaints, critiques, or cursewords, send them my way by e-mailing me at this addy [bcampo@hotmail.com][1] I'm a big boy and can handle it if you have problems with a story. I only ask if that you tell me I suck, you tell me why I suck. Tell me what's wrong with the writing. I may not agree with you, but I will listen to you. Thanks for reading, see you next issue. 

Like this? Then try the other stuff I've written at my homepage [Bad Monkey Comics!!][2]

Next: Territorial Pissings   
  
  
  
  
  
  


   [1]: mailto:bcampo@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo



	2. Territorial Pissings

Spawn # 2 Spawn: Born Again 

# 2 

by [Brian Campo][1] (bcampo@hotmail.com)   


**This is a work of fan fiction.** Spawn and all related characters are owned by Todd McFarlane Productions, and I do not contest that ownership. This story is in no way official and it should not be taken as such. All characters in this story not owned by Mr.McFarlane are owned by me, though I would gladly loan them out if asked nicely. 

**Warning:** This story may contain graphic violence, sexual situations and harsh language. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't. 

Territorial Pissings 

We think that we are so smart. We think that we know so much. We don't realize that what we think of as "The Real World" is only the tip of a vast iceberg. So many things are going on right below the surface and we have no idea There is more. So much more. We are sadly arrogant.   
Strange frequencies flood the airways and no one even knows that they are there. Signals are broadcast from other worlds and even other dimensions and they go unnoticed by mortal men. They manage to go unnoticed because they are coded and scrambled so well that no normal communications device can detect them. But they are there, trust me. And there are ways to see them. All it takes is a special satellite receiver or a cable box with a special descrambler chip and you too can turn to the channels between channels.   
For instance,   
Channel 36.7 UET, Undead Entertainment Television, a channel created with the interests of spirits and ghosts in mind. One of it's more popular shows is Poltergeist Pranks, an hour long game show in which poltergeists compete to see who can drive a family out of their home faster. There are also travel shows featuring some of the nicest places in the world that a spirit would want to haunt.   
Channel 54.4 Religious Programming aimed at ghosts who wonder where they will be going when they die this time.   
Channel 17.5 Keep track of the soul market and be informed of all the latest in Murders and Aquisitions.   
Now, turn it to Channel 63.2   
ENN The Elysium News Network. Want to know to know what's going on in the afterlife? Want to know who's winning a war in some distant dimension? This is where you turn. 

"Good afternoon." said the cheerful news anchor from behind her desk. "This is Milly Fontaine and your watching "Headlines." A snazzy title graphic popped up at the bottom of the screen and important sounding theme music accompanied it.   
"First, our top stories. There's tension in Hades today as the Shit Shovelers that are condemned to spend eternity there are threatening to go on strike. Reporter Betty Cherub spoke to their leader Jimmy Hoffa early this morning."   
Video of deceased Union man Jimmy Hoffa played. He was standing hip deep in a pool of burning shit with a shovel in one hand. A woman floated above the pool of shit with a microphone in her hand. A set of tiny wings that flapped on her back was all that was keeping her suspended in the air.   
"Just what is it that you and your fellow Shit Shovelers want, Mr. Hoffa?" She had her shirt pulled up over her nose to block out the smell of crap and she sounded like she was trying to talk without breathing through her nose. Hoffa didn't seem to notice the smell at all.   
"What do we want? Are you kidding me? Look at the conditions we have to work under! I mean, I understand that I'm condemned to hell and it's not supposed to be pleasant, but Jesus H Christ! Does the shit have to be on fire? Where is that written? And we want medical. And coffee."   
"How close are you to an actual strike, Mr. Hoffa? And do you honestly think that it will help?"   
"If we can get enough people to back us up I think we can make Hell a much better place to be. How soon? People are really unhappy down here, I'd say it's only a matter of days."   
"There you have it, Milly, back to you."   
Milly popped back onto the screen. "We put a call in to Malbolgia, Lord of Darkness and one of the rulers of Hell to ask how he felt about the threat of a strike. He had this to say."   
A still photo of Malbolgia's ugly mug filled the screen and his voice crackled over what sounded like a bad phone line. "Strike?! Ha! Mr. Hoffa and his friends better just quit their bitching and get back to work or I swear to the enemy that me and my lawyers will eat them for breakfast and shit them out by lunch time. . . and I mean that in the literal sense. I'd also like to remind them that shoveling shit while standing on your feet is a privilege not a right."   
Milly's smiling visage returned. "It looks like hell is no place to be right now. We'll keep you informed as the story progresses. Now we turn to our spiritual meteorologist, Chip Edwards. Hello, Chip. What can you tell us about all these weird going ons in New York?"   
A man in his mid thirties wearing a hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts appeared on the screen. His hair was cut and combed to perfection and looked like it had been hair sprayed into place. He was standing in front of a screen that was showing what looked like a satellite photo of North America.   
"Well, Milly, things are very strange indeed in New York right now. As you can see on these special satellite images, there is a bit of a spiritual storm brewing over that whole area. You got your good forces and your evil forces clashing and we get this big dark area of spiritual turbulence that you can see right here. The good news is that it doesn't seem to be moving or spreading to anywhere else. If you're planning on visiting New York in the next couple of days I'd pack a force field, 'cause you just might need it. Milly?"   
"Thanks, Chip. We''ll be back after these messages." 

There's an old saying that goes something like this: "Anyone who says they aren't scared doesn't understand the situation." Cog understood the situation perfectly and he didn't mind admitting that it frightened him to no end. He was trapped, trapped in the world behind a magic mirror. He had been using the mirror the day before for divination purposes when someone or something had attacked him from behind and shoved him headfirst into it's not so solid surface. It wasn't until after he had recovered his senses that he realized just how dire of a predicament he had found himself in. There was another saying that he felt applied to the current state of things. Something about an unsanitary tributary and the lack of proper means of motivation.   
This wasn't just the world behind the magic mirror. This was the world behind all mirrors, all reflective surfaces for that matter. For every reflective surface in the real world there was an opening here, a window giving a clear view of whatever was being reflected. There was an infinite number of these windows in the darkness surrounding Cog and they stretched off into the distance until they looked like stars. They came in every conceivable shape and size, some recognizable, but most not. There were windows that floated in the middle of the air that looked out into bathrooms. These were most likely medicine cabinet mirrors. There were round windows at Cog's feet that showed a view of the sky. Presumably, they were reflections from mud puddles. In some places there were towers of the windows, hundreds of them stacked on top of each other and reaching far up into the sky. Cog believed that these were windows in the side of a skyscraper. Other odd shaped windows were anybody's guess. A piece of broken glass, a shiny bit of metal, there was no way to tell.   
There was no way to get through the windows. They felt as smooth and cool as glass, but they were much stronger. Cog had beat at one of them with his fists until his knuckles bled and hadn't even cracked it's surface. Then he'd taken off one of his boots and pounded on the window with it's heel. He might as well have been beating on a slab of granite. He had given up at that point, acknowledging the fact that he wasn't getting out that way. He would have to find some other way to escape.   
He was going to have to find help. There was only one person that he knew of that would or could help him, and that was Al. No one else knew how to find his lair. There wasn't anybody else who could understand the magical nature of Cog's hideout and could be made to understand what Cog would need in order to escape.   
The problem was that Al was not an easy man to find. He was an elusive creature that spent much of his time in hiding Over the last few years he had spent his time learning every nook and cranny of the Bowery. Combine that with the fact that he was a hellspawn and capable of blending into just about any background and you have the world's best hide and seek player. If he didn't want to be found then you weren't going to find him. Cog could only hope that Al was not in one of those moods.   
So Cog searched for him, making his way from window to window. Thankfully, the windows did seem relative to their real world counterparts. Meaning that if two windows were twenty feet apart here there was a pretty good chance they were twenty feet apart in the real world, the way the crow flies anyway. The buildings and rooms he was glimpsing through the windows looked familiar and he believed that they were within the immediate vicinity of the alleys. With a little practice he found that he could navigate to the places that he wanted to go with reasonable accuracy.   
It was four hours later, according to Cog's pocket watch, when he finally spotted Al. He was looking through a dirty, broken window pane into a basement that was filled hip deep with water and garbage. The hellspawn was at the far end of the room digging through a pile of refuse, and from his body language, Cog guessed that he was throwing one of his fits. Emotionally, Al could be very immature. He was brash, spiteful, and when he didn't get his way, he got very angry. He seemed to be searching for something right now, and Cog couldn't tell if he was angry because he couldn't find what he was looking for, or if it was something else.   
He beat on the window, hoping that there might be some sound on the other side to catch Al's attention. Either there wasn't, or Al was making so much noise with his tantrum that he couldn't hear it. Cog cursed in frustration and wracked his brain for someway to catch that numbskull's eye.   
In the basement, Al stopped slinging garbage and looked down at his feet. A moment later he bent down and pulled a metal crate up out of the muck. Apparently this is what he had been looking for, because he seemed to be calming down. Al hefted the crate up onto his shoulder and waded across the flooded basement towards the window that Cog was observing from.   
Delighted that he had a chance to get Al's attention Cog began jumping up and down and waving his arms. Hopefully Al would catch a glimpse of movement and notice him in the reflection. No such luck. Al's thoughts were somewhere else as he walked right past the window and out of the room.   
Panicking, Cog headed in the same direction Al had and to the next window. He saw a brief flash of red just as he got there, the tail of Al's cape as it disappeared around a corner. He ran to the next window but saw no sign of Al anywhere. He had lost him.   
He pushed down the despair he felt creeping up, telling himself that he would find a way out of this. Just keep looking. Al would turn up again and he could try to get his attention then. Cog moved on, checking the windows.   
A little while later he came upon a window looking out into an abandoned lot. It was filled with homeless people. They were packed shoulder to shoulder and trying for all they were worth to see over the shoulder of the person in front of them. What were they all doing here? A soup kitchen, maybe? A fight? He navigated to another window for a better look. He found one that he gave him a clear view of the object of the crowd's attention. It was a man, a young man dressed in a white button up shirt, a black tie and black trousers. He held a white leather bound bible in one hand and in the other he held to the handles to a plastic bag full of food from Kentucky Fried Chicken. He was smiling at the crowd of people and nodding.   
Cog recognized the man. "You dirty son of a bitch." he said as he glared at him. What was he doing here? Up to his old tricks, no doubt. He absolutely had to find a way out now. And quickly. There wasn't much time. 

"Are you hungry?" shouted Timothy Rice. He was standing on top of a pile of busted up concrete, waving his bible at the crowd gathered around him.   
The crowd responded with a resounding, "Yes, Lord!" They were listening to him attentively, but their eyes were on the bag of food swinging from his hand.   
"Do you feel a need deep down inside you?" he continued. "Is there a hole deep inside that just never seems to be filled?"   
"Yes, Lord!" replied the crowd, with a few "amens" thrown in for good measure. The smell of Fried Chicken was over powering. People who haven't eaten properly in months are feeling a little faint, it smells so good. Stomachs grumbled.   
"I'm not just talking about physical hunger. I'm talking about a hunger for the Lord. Do you feel it?"   
"Yes, Lord!"   
Timothy took a step down from the top of the rubble pile. "The bible says that the Lord has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty handed. Do you believe that?"   
"We believe, Lord!"   
"Do you think he wants you to be hungry like this? Do you think he wants his children to go hungry?"   
"No, Lord!"   
"Didn't he feed the multitude with loaves and fishes?"   
"Oh, yes he did. Yes, he did."   
"Do you believe that he loves you just as much?"   
"Yes, he does."   
"I'm telling you that if you believe in him he can do the same thing right here today. Do you believe that he can do that?"   
"Yes, Lord! Praise you, Lord!"   
"Then let's ask him." he said. Timothy tucked the bible under his arm and held the bag of chicken up in front of him. He closed his eyes and began to pray, "Lord, I am standing here on behalf of your children, your hungry children, and I am asking you to bless this food so that I may do your will and feed them. Please, Lord, don't let one of these people go away hungry today. In your name we pray, Amen."   
"Amen" said the crowd.   
Timothy squatted down and pulled the top of the bag open. The crowd pushed closer around him. "It's ok, everyone. There will be plenty. Just believe. You." he said, pointing at an elderly man at the front. "Barbecue, original, or extra crispy?"   
The man seemed hesitant. "Extra Crispy, I guess."   
Timothy used a napkin to fish out a extra crispy chicken breast and handed it to the man. "You come back in a few minutes and I'll get you some biscuits and Joe-Joes. What about you, ma'am? What kind of chicken do you like?"   
The woman standing next to the old man shrugged and said, "Doesn't matter."   
Timothy handed her a piece of barbecue and she headed toward the back of the crowd with it. He continued to hand it out as the people in the crowd pressed forward.. He preached to them as he put the food in their outstretched hands, and blessed them and told them how much the Lord loved them. People came back for seconds on the chicken and for side dishes, which Timothy gladly handed over to them. There was no way there could have been that much food in that one plastic bag, but somehow there was. He just kept pulling it out. The crowd ate until their shrunken bellies could take no more, and then they sat down on the bare ground to listen to Timothy talk.   
"There's more if you get hungry again." he told them. "When you're a child of God, there's always plenty." 

Spawn ascended the stairs in the old apartment building. On one shoulder he toted the metal crate he had located earlier. He was quiet as he ran tirelessly up flight after flight of steps. His presence was only occasionally betrayed by the chink of chain or the snap of cloth. Rats tumbled out of his path as he raced past, never even knowing he was there until he was only a step away.   
At the top of the stairs was a door leading out onto the roof of the building and Al shoved his way through it. Once outside he heard the voices of the crowd gathered below the building raised in worship. He scowled in disgust.   
"Fucking sheep." he muttered.   
He made his way to the edge of the roof and dropped to a crouch. From this angle he would be invisible to anyone below, should they happen to look up. He dropped the crate on the tarred surface of the roof and flipped up the latches holding the top closed. The lid opened to reveal a disassembled sniper rifle. A quick once over confirmed that the insides of the crate had remained dry even though it had been under water for several months now. Al started pulling out pieces and assembling the rifle. It went together quickly, Al's hands slipping the parts together like it was second nature. Half a minute later he was slapping in the clip and pulling back the slide.   
He raised himself up a little and looked over the edge of the roof. The preacher was going to be an easy target. He was standing on top of a pile of busted concrete and the nearest of the bums was more than five feet away. A nice clear line of fire with minimal risk of hitting someone else.   
Al pulled out the tripod on the front of the rifle and sat it on the rooftop. He pulled the rifle butt up to his shoulder and sighted Rice through the scope. Rice's face loomed up in crystal clarity. His expressions were animated as he spat his sermons at the hobos around him. Spawn watched him talk and tried to fight down the anger he felt building up in him.   
Rice had made a fool out of him. He had done something to Al the night before, paralyzed him somehow. It had left Al unable to move for more than an hour. By the time that the ability to move had been returned to him Rice had long since disappeared. So Al had waited for him for him to return to the alleys and planned how he would deal with the little shit. He didn't want to get into another physical confrontation with him. It might result in the same thing that happened to him the night before. He decided it would be better if he just handled it the way he would have handled it in the old days. With a bullet between the eyes.   
Al steadied his aim and placed the cross hairs over the preacher's face. The vertical and horizontal lines intersected right over the bridge of the preacher's nose. Al flipped the safety off and put his finger on the trigger. Take a breath. Hold it. Squeeze the trigger. Good night, fucker. The gun kicked and roared.   
At that instant Timothy Rice stopped speaking and looked right up at Al. He was smiling. A young woman at the front of the crowd jerked. Blood and brain matter exploded from the far side of her head. She toppled forward, splattering blood on the busted concrete at Timothy Rice's feet. As he looked down, Rice's expression changed from a smile to a look of sorrow.   
Spawn stumbled to his feet and away from the edge of the roof. He was shocked and sickened. What the hell had happened?! He'd had Timothy dead to rights. There was no way he could have missed a shot like that.   
What had he done?! He had killed one of the people he had taken under his wing to protect. His anger had got the better of him and now an innocent woman was laying with her brains leaking out of her skull. Al dropped his rifle and clutched at his temples in rage. Stupid! Stupid! Full of shame and self loathing, he ran to the other end of the roof and leaped into the air. His jump took him over to the roof of the next building where he landed with a loud thud.. From there he dropped to a fire escape and descended to the alleys below. He ran. 

There were tears running down Timothy's cheeks as he sat cradling the woman's shattered head. He looked at the shocked and weeping faces of the people in the crowd and said, "This is what you get. The word of God states that the wages of sin are death. You've been following a creature of sin. Every one of you. You look to him when you need something rather than looking to the Lord. You ask for his blessing for everything you do in your lives. You've put him before the Lord. This is what it gets you. The wages of sin are death and you're going to start getting paid in spades. Is that what you want?" He shouted the last sentence at them, sounding almost angry.   
"No, please no." muttered the people in the crowd.   
"It doesn't have to be this way. If you turn your back on sin and give your heart to the Lord then you can have life. Eternal life."   
He put his hand against the gaping exit hole in the side of the woman's head.   
"I feel the spirit of the Lord moving upon me." said Rice. "He's telling me that he's not done with this young woman yet. That he's still got wonderful things planned for her. He wants her to live and all we have to do is ask. I want everyone to close your eyes and when I say these words, just repeat after me." He closed his eyes and whispered, "Please Lord, if it is your will, let her live."   
There was a low drone through out the crowd as the people repeated the words.   
For a moment nothing happened, then a man standing nearby shouted, "Oh, Sweet Lord! Look!" The people in the crowd pushed forward, trying to get a better look. They could only catch glimpses of what was happening from in between Rice's splayed out fingers. The woman's head was mending itself. Her brain was reforming and the skull and scalp was starting to grow back together.   
"That's right." said a smiling Timothy Rice. "Just believe."   
As the wound sealed close, the woman twitched and took in a deep breath. Her eyes opened and she looked up into Timothy Rice's face. She looked confused.   
"What happened?" she asked.   
"The Lord smiled on you." said Rice.   
A cheer went up from the people surrounding them and the sounds of praise and worship filled the Bowery. 

Cog had found Al again. As he watched him through a window he couldn't help but shake his head in disgust. He was throwing another of his tantrums, kicking piles of garbage, then picking up an old tv and throwing it against a wall. His costume was reacting to his anger and the cape and chains were writhing around like it was looking for a fight. This was what he had to work with. A hellpowered, fit throwing brat.   
There was no point in even trying to wave Al down. He was just too distracted with his tissy to notice anything. He would have to try something drastic. He was going to have to risk using magic, something that could be very dangerous in a place like the one in which he was trapped. What else could he do?   
He put his thumb and middle finger together and raised them up so that they were level with the window he was looking out of. Then he turned his head, closed his eyes and whispered, "Etnamulli." Even though his eyes were closed he still saw white as the spell made a flash of light burst from his finger tips. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he looked out the window to see what Al's reaction had been. It had caught his attention. He had stopped his fit throwing and was looking around for the source of the light flash. Now, now was his chance. He waved his arms like a mad man and jumped up and down. Al's gaze went right past him. Then stopped and came back. He leaned forward as if trying to get a better look. Cog beckoned for all he was worth.   
"That's right, you stupid son of a bitch. It's me. Come on, a little closer."   
Al stepped closer. He looked confused as hell.   
Cog opened his mouth wide and inhaled on the glass, steaming it up. Quickly, he wrote in the steam with his fingertip: IT'S MAGIC. I'M STUCK. NEED HELP.   
Al read it, took a moment to realize that it was backwards from his side and then nodded that he understood. He raised his arms and shrugged as if to say, "What can I do?"   
Cog wiped away the steam and breathed on the glass again. This time he wrote. GO TO MIRROR IN MY LAIR. A few seconds later Al nodded and took off running. Cog ran too, as fast as he could back to the mirror he had come in through. He reached it before Al because his route was a much straighter line. He figured it would take Al few minutes to get past all the traps and security measures. He clenched his hands into fist and danced a happy little jig. Finally! He would be back in the real world. He waited patiently and before too long, he saw Al come walking towards him. Cog grinned and promised that he would never say another bad thing about the man.   
He exhaled on his side of the mirror's surface. In the steam he wrote: REACH IN.   
Al hesitated for a moment and then slowly stretched one hand toward the mirror. The clawed ends of his fingers went right through the surface. He jerked his hand back in surprise, but then reached in again, this time a little more confidently. When it was in all the way to his elbow Cog took hold of it and pushed it back the other way. Al took the hint. He wrapped his fingers around Cog's wrist and pulled. A moment later Cog was falling out of the mirror onto the floor of his lair.   
"Thank god." he said to Al as he got to his feet. "There's trouble. The people of the alleys are in danger." 

**NEXT: Promised Land**   
  


   [1]: mailto:bcampo@hotmail.com



	3. Promised Land

Spawn: Born Again 

# 3 

by Brian Campo (bcampo@hotmail.com)   


**This is a work of fan fiction.** Spawn and all related characters are owned by Todd McFarlane Productions, and I do not contest that ownership. This story is in no way official and it should not be taken as such. All characters in this story not owned by Mr.McFarlane are owned by me, though I would gladly loan them out if asked nicely. 

**Warning:** This story may contain graphic violence, sexual situations and harsh language. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't. 

Promised Land 

"I don't know who he is or what he is," said Cogliostro. "but I can tell you that Timothy Rice is no man of God." He sat at the chair by his desk looking disheveled and nerve wracked. He'd had a rough couple of days; being trapped in a magical mirror and thinking you're never going to escape isn't fun in anybody's book. A blanket had been thrown over the face of the mirror. Cog found it's black surface just a little too disturbing too look at right now. It would be a while before he could build up the courage to use that particular divining device again.   
Al stood nearby, wrapped in his cloak and his own thoughts. "Then how could he do the things he does?" asked the Spawn. "He's got power, and plenty of it. I've seen it, felt it."   
"Don't know." Cog replied." But when it comes to sources of power, this universe is in no short supply. I've met him before and I'm telling you he is evil."   
"If he doesn't work for God then why would he claim that he does?"   
"It's a brand name." said Cog. "It's one that sells."   
"I don't understand." God a brand name?   
"Look, it's like someone making fake rolex's and them selling them on the street. People buy them cause they believe that they are the real thing and the real thing is a sure thing, a tried and true thing. You can sell anything to people if you put the right name tag on it. You say, 'Hello, I work for Jesus.' and people say, 'Who do I make the check out to?' It doesn't mean that he's actually working for God, anymore than a little sweat shop in Taiwan making knock off Rolex's really works for Rolex. He's just reaping the benefits cause he's using a name that people trust."   
It made a little sense to Spawn. He still didn't see what Rice could be getting out of the deal. "You said you've met him before. Where? When?"   
"1822." said Cog. "I had run into a spot of trouble when a young angel had decided to earn her wings by tracking down old Cog and taking his head. I had to use just about every spell and enchantment I knew to keep her from doing just that. Our little scrap took us around the world and through several others before it finally ended. When it was over she was nothing but a pair of legs sticking out of a smoking crater and I was stuck in the middle of the California desert, low on power and without food or water."   
I spent a week wandering west, hoping to find a settlement or civilization of some kind. It was horrible. The heat was cooking me alive and there was no where to hide from it. All I could do was just keep going and hope I would reach somewhere safe before I collapsed. Late afternoon of the eighth day I saw a large structure up ahead. 'Finally!' I thought. 'I'm saved!' The building was a spanish prison, built to house the worst criminals in the California territory. I must have been a sight as I stumbled up the guards at the gate, nearly blackened by the desert sun, so dehydrated that I was unable to speak. One of the guards gave me his canteen and I gulped at it. I vomited what I drank and drank some more. They took me inside and led me to the infirmary. It was cool in there and I passed out. It seemed I had only closed my eyes when someone was shaking me, trying to wake me. It took me a minute but I was able to collect myself enough to sit up. A priest had come to see me. He introduced himself as Antonio Vinbueno. He served as both priest and doctor at the prison. He was there to look me over and help if he could. He gave me a quick once over and then he opened my right to look into it. He saw something in my eye he didn't like. Somehow, he figured out what I was. One second he was a caring priest trying to help me, the next second he was looking at me like I was a rattlesnake. He took a step back and spit at me."   
"I see you, devil!" he shouted at me. "Why have you come here?!"   
I played stupid, acting like I didn't know what he was talking about. It enraged him. He pulled a worn out bible from his robes, held it above his head and charged at me, shrieking in rage. I was too weak to fend him off. He grabbed a handful of my hair and drug me off of the bed and onto the floor. He yanked and pulled me through the prison and to the gates, cursing me and rebuking me and calling me, "Seed of Satan." and all kinds of things. He threw me head first out through the gates and told me to leave. I couldn't get to my feet so he started kicking me and dragging me by my hair again. "Be gone." he yelled at me, "You are not welcome here." I pulled myself together and got away from him. As I stumbled away through the desert night I heard him screaming back there, telling me that if I ever returned he would bind and burn me."   
Two days later I made it into a little town and was able to recover. I never went back to that place. I suppose I probably could have handled that priest when I was in better condition, but something about him scared me. He had these eyes, something about them. . . Anyway, years later I hear that something strange had happened at that prison. The supply wagons went out there one day and they found everyone dead. Guards, prisoners, all of them were dead. Suicide. They all hung themselves. Only one person was missing. That priest. It was one of those things that no one could ever figure out. Some said the desert had gotten to them, or maybe they had some sickness. I knew the truth, though. It was that priest. He had done it, somehow. Made them do it."   
"The priest was Rice?" asked Al.   
"Yes." said Cog. "And that's not all. Remember back in the early eighties there was this cult up in Minnesota that had themselves a mass suicide? They all went out to a lake in the middle of winter, stripped naked and lay down on the ice and froze to death. When they press got a hold of it they went nuts. It was on every news channel. The leader of this cult was missing and the police were looking for him. They showed his picture and I swear it was him. He had a beard and glasses and longer hair, but it was him. And that's him out there with your friends right now. I think he's going to try to do it again, Al. If we let him he'll kill them all."   
"How could he convince all those people to do that? People aren't that stupid. You can't just tell them to kill themselves and they do it."   
"It happens." said Cog. "It's happened many, many times. Sure, if you walk up to someone on the street and say, 'Kill yourself.' they will tell you where to shove it. But you come to them using a name they trust, like Jesus, show them some slight of hand and they'll kill their children for you. Besides, it's a lot easier to do things you'd never do if you see a lot of other people doing it too. Mob mentality is one of the greatest powers on earth. People want to be lead, they want to be told what to do. If they do as they are told then their actions are someone else's responsibility. How many times have you heard the words, 'I was just following orders.'?"   
Those words stung Al. He knew he'd said them several times in his life, trying to excuse something horrible he had done. He turned away from Cog so the old man couldn't see the pain on his face. "You think it was him that pushed you into the mirror?" he asked, trying to move the conversation in a different direction.   
"Yes." said Cog. "I believe he considered me a threat. He must have seen me and recognized me. He realized that I could tell the others who and what he was. So, he tried to remove me from the equation."   
"Then why not try to remove me, too?"   
"Apparently because he didn't consider you to be a threat."   
Spawn turned and glared at him. "What?!"   
"Look at yourself. Young, impulsive, inclined to make bonehead moves. It would take him only a few minutes of watching you before he got your number. He figures, sure, the boy's got power, but he doesn't have the common sense to know how to use it. It was easier to just let you go. Let you throw your little tantrums, try your back alleys tactics and all the while he'll turn the people that believe in you against you. How well has he been doing?"   
Spawn said nothing, which confirmed Cog's suspicions.   
"He's playing you, Al, and unless you get your act together he's going to win. Let me tell you a little secret. The purest and strongest power in the universe is faith. If people believe in you and what you stand for then you will have all the strength you will ever need. Right now, Timothy Rice has those people's faith. He's shown them some tricks, he's put food in their bellies, and he's healed their wounds. He's helped them while you sat around doing nothing for years. For the first time in years someone is helping them. And they believe in him with every fiber of their being."   
"You're saying that because he has their faith I can't beat him?"   
"I'm not saying that you can't. I'm saying that it won't be easy." said Cog. "They had faith in you once, you know. You protected them. They believed in you and while you didn't realize it, it made you stronger. All those hundreds of people believing in you, trying to be near you, it made you nearly invincible. You conquered anyone who came looking for you. But you started withdrawing, started letting bad things happen to the good people that believed in you. They started looking for somewhere else to put their faith. You've gotten weaker. You've had some scraps with enemies lately where you didn't fare so well. Tim Rice came along and gave those people just what they needed. He took their faith from you. But you can have their faith back, if you want it. Give them a reason to believe in you. Show them what you stand for."   
"You don't understand." said Spawn. " I've tried to stop him. He took that bible and swatted me away like I was a fly. What hope do I have against a man who can redirect the path of a bullet in mid-flight?"   
"You're going to have to find a way. Think. Find his weakness. Where does he get his power? Can he be cut off from it? You can't beat this one just with your fists, Al. You're going to have to be calm and calculating."   
Spawn thought about what Cog had told him, and wondered how much truth there was to it. He thought of the Curse being able to cut him to pieces, the way John Sansker had beat on him so badly. Was there really some way that the bums faith effected his strength and powers? It was just too strange to be true, but then again, he was a dead man who had been resurrected to be a hell powered zombie wearing a sentient super hero costume. Strange things do happen.   
"I don't know." he told Cog. "I need time to think. Time to sort this all out." He started towards the door.   
"Time is something we don't have a lot of, Al. I don't know how much longer it will be before Rice starts asking those people for sacrifice. When that time comes I'm afraid they're going to be willing to give it to him." 

Belly full of coffee and doughnuts, Bobby huddled with his fellow bums and listened to Reverend Rice as he spoke. It was the seventh day that Rice had come to the alleys to preach and he was fast becoming a regular fixture in these parts. Everything had been peaceful since the woman had been shot and healed three days before. No one was sure what had happened that day or who had done the shooting, but the trouble seemed to have stopped. Maybe Rice was right, maybe because people had their minds on God and off of sinful things the Lord was protecting them.   
Rice was bringing them food every day now. Every day it seemed like there was more to eat. The first day it had only been the chicken dinner during the middle of the day but as the days went by the meals had become more frequent. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, Rice just seemed to pull them out of nowhere. Bobby hadn't eaten this much and this often in years. He was feeling so good that he was even laying off of the bottle.   
Bobby hadn't seen Al at all over the last few days. He seemed to have disappeared from the alleys all together. He had wondered more than a few times over the last few days if Al had something to do with that shooting, but told him self that it was crazy talk. Al had never hurt any of the bums and he would never shoot a defenseless woman. Still, it was strange that he seemed to have disappeared right after it happened. . .   
Rice was talking about the wonders of heaven. He had sat down his bag of doughnuts and pot of coffee so that he could move around a little more while he preached. Bobby had to hand it to him. He knew how to preach. He knew how to move a crowd and get it fired up about God. He didn't use big words, he talked in a way that they could understand. And he was so convincing. He made it seem like it would be silly not to love God.   
"Didn't the Lord tell you that he has prepared a place for you?" Rice was saying. "Do you believe that he wants you to live this way? "   
"No!" shouted the crowd. Bobby chimed in. They had become more used to Rice's style of religion and knew that when he asked a question he expected an answer."   
"He doesn't want you to be cold all the time! He doesn't want you sleeping out in the rain!. He is your Father in heaven! What kind of Father would he be if that was what he wanted? He is a loving Father. He wants you to be warm. He wants you to be clothed. He wants you to sleep in a bed at night and eat at a table in the morning. Do you believe that?"   
"Yes!" replied the people in the crowd.   
"You were sick." said Rice. "You had all sorts of ailments. What did your loving Father do?"   
"He healed us." some bums said.   
"That's right. He sent me here and used me to heal you. He took away that pain. He took away that sickness, those maladies. He made you well. You were hungry. Did your Father turn his back on you. Did he let you starve?"   
"Oh, no." said the people. "Praise the Lord."   
"That's right. He provides food for you. He gives you sustenance. He knows you can't praise him when you have a gnawing in your belly. You have been through a trial over these last few years and the end of that trial is coming. The Lord has seen you persevere and he has tested you some more. He's seen you keep loving him when times were at their worst. He's preparing a place for you and soon your going to be ready to go there. Do you want to go there?"   
"Oh, yes!" replied the crowd. "We're ready!"   
"I don't know." said Rice. "I don't think you are. It takes faith to go to that place. You have to be ready, or you will be turned aside at the gate. It's Love that will open those gates. Love of the Lord. You are his children and he wants you to come home, but only when you are ready. And do you know how you'll know when you're ready?"   
The crowd was quiet, hanging on his every word.   
"You'll be ready when you are ready to be shown the way. That's why I am here, to show you the way to him. I can lead you to him, but you have to ask yourself, are you ready to be lead to him? You're so headstrong, so stubborn, always wanting God and the world to work your way. It's time for you to let go of that and let God show you his way. Can I get an Amen?"   
"Amen." said the bums, in almost perfect unison.   
"Do you think you're ready?"   
"Yes!"   
"That's not good enough. You have to KNOW you're ready. If you aren't sure, then you're not ready. So are you ready?"   
"We're ready!"   
"Are you sure you're ready?"   
"We're ready, Praise God, We're ready."   
"Show me."   
They all sat staring at him, unsure of what he meant.   
"I'll show you." he said. "All you have to do is follow me. So, I want you to standup, and follow me. The Promised Land is that way." He pointed east.   
Some of the bums looked skeptical. Bobby felt more than a little skeptical.   
"I thought you said you were ready?!" shouted Rice. "You're sitting here and you're thinking, 'This is New York. How can the Kingdom of God be right over there?' You're questioning. You're not acting on faith! Did he not feed you? Did he not heal you? Now he wants to put a roof over your head and care for you but you are sitting there questioning him! Get up! Get up! Believe. You'll see! Believe!"   
The people were getting to their feet. Some were hesitant at first but when they saw their friends getting up too they felt more confident.   
"Praise God." said Rice, a smile on his face. "I do believe you are ready. Just follow me." He started east, and the massive crowd of bums followed him. They were five hundred strong. They hurried to keep up with Rice who was moving forward at a brisk eager pace. They wanted to stay near him.   
Bobby moved along at the back of the crowd, wondering where they were going. A loud clank made him look up and he caught a flash of red as something moved overhead from one rooftop to another.   
"Al?" he called out. There was no reply.   
"What are you waiting for, Bobby?" yelled one of the bums ahead of him. "C'mon! Let's go!"   
Bobby looked up for a few seconds more and then jogged to catch up with the others. 

At the front of the throng Timothy Rice smiled and encouraged the people behind him to keep up. They were heading out of the alleys now, over onto the busier streets. He didn't stop for traffic. He just held out his hands to each side and walked right into the street. He was pleased to see the crowd do the same. The traffic on the street came to a screeching halt as drivers sat with mouths agape at the crowd of bums passing in front of them. This happened over and over as they headed east, bringing the whole section of the town to a standstill. People were staring out the windows of their apartments at this parade of filthy homeless people marching en mass. The bums ignored them and followed after Timothy Rice.   
The buildings around them were turning into factories and warehouses now. They were getting close to the river. Was he going to baptize them? some of the bums asked. Cause that river water was filthy. You could catch diseases in it. Others told them to be quiet and just follow Timothy. He knew what he was doing. Some sang hymns and others joined them. _Let us all gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river, let us all gather at the river that flows from the throne of God!_   
Rice grinned and joined in with the song. His voice would have worked well on an easy listening radio station. Finally, they came to the banks of the river. Timothy stopped and the crowd began to fill in the area around him.   
"What now?" people were asking.   
"The Kingdom of God is over there." he said as he pointed across the river.   
"Should we swim?"   
"Find boats?"   
"Will he send a boat?"   
"How do we get across?"   
"We'll walk across." Rice told them. He walked down to the very edge of the water and raised his bible above his head. "Dear Lord," he began to pray. "These people are coming home to you. They've been tested and found true and they are ready to claim their heavenly reward. If it is your will, and you find them to be ready, help us to cross this river." Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and thrust his bible out over the water. The hair on the head of every person in the crowd stood on end. Their flesh tingled with the power emanating from Timothy Rice.   
"Yes, Lord!" he shouted. "Yes!"   
A line ripped straight across the top of the river directly in front of Rice. The ground beneath their feet began to rumble. The natural order of things was being manipulated. The river to Timothy's left simply stopped flowing while all the water to his right quickly drained away to dry land. It was like something right out of a Hollywood epic, a honest to God, Cecil B Demille miracle.   
He didn't hesitate for a moment, he stepped right out onto the wet muck of the river bed and started across. Some of the bums hemmed and hawed for a moment, worried about their shoes, but figured, what the heck? God will give them new shoes. They raced out onto the mud, trying to catch up with Rice. They stared at the wall of water to their left, amazed. It was growing taller by the second as millions of tons of water were being held back. If they ever had a reason to doubt God, it was gone now. They believed in him whole heartedly.   
They were passing over garbage and wrecked cars and even some blocks of cement with leg bones protruding from them. Everything that had ever been tossed into the river was revealed. They made their way around the obstacles and kept moving, hurrying to get across the mile of riverbed to the other side. This was it. Their lives were finally changing for the better. Once they got to the other side, they would be in the Kingdom of heaven. They thought of love ones they might be leaving behind and thought, oh, well. They'll have to find their own way.   
In the distance sirens were wailing. The police were coming to see just what the hell was wrong with the river. A helicopter appeared on the horizon and headed their way.   
Halfway across Timothy stopped. He turned to his crowd of followers and smiled. "You've passed the test." he said. "You put your faith in me and followed me into the river. I'm so proud of you." He waved his bible at them. "He's so proud of you. Now tell me, do you love your God?"   
"We love him." said the crowd.   
"You can't doubt him now, can you? Look around, look at the miracle I've shown you. I want to hear you say that you believe in him."   
"We believe in him!" They were weeping with joy and adulation.   
"He wants to hear you say it like you mean it. He wants to hear you say, "I believe in you!"   
"I believe in you!" they shouted, near hysteria.   
"Again." Rice waved his bible around like a madman. "Make the ground shake with your voices!"   
"I believe in you!" People had their hands in the air. A few were dancing around in the mud, tears streaming from their eyes.   
"Do you believe that I can take you to the Promised Land?" Rice's feet began to lift off of the ground. People gasped and praised the Lord as they watched him begin to levitate.   
"Oh, yes, Lord!"   
"Do you believe in me? Do you believe in my power?" He was rising above their heads now. He held his hands up and out the side as if he was pulling the last notes out of an orchestra.   
"Yes, Lord, Yes." they said, sounding like they were in the throes of passion.   
"I said, do you believe in me?!" He was rising above the wall of water now.   
"Yes, yes, yes! We believe in you!" They were worked up into a frenzy.   
Rice stopped moving all of a sudden and smiled. "Then you're mine."   
He dropped his hands and looked upward. The wall of water began to fall. A few of the bums were still aware enough to realize what what happening. They began to scream, shrieking in fear. Others took notice. Panic swept the crowd. They turned to run back to the river bank, but there was no way, no where near enough time. In an instant they would be crushed by a million tons of water. Five hundred souls would be gone in a flash. They prayed to God but wondered what good it would do. Isn't this what he wanted?   
Green light exploded past them, temporarily blinding them. Stunned, they blinked away the spots in their vision and saw that the water had stopped falling. It had been turned to ice. What? What had happened? Were they saved? Who had saved them? They looked toward the river bank and saw someone standing there. A figure in black wearing a gigantic red cloak. The cape flapped and snapped as it waved around him, moving like a living thing. For many, this was the first time they had ever seen him, for others it was the first time they had seen him in the light of day. He was awe inspiring, terrifying, but at this moment in time the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. He had come to save them. 

"You've got to take him out." said Cog. "Now."   
Spawn turned to see the old man standing a little ways behind him. He hadn't even heard him walk up "How?"   
"Carefully." said Cog. "First, I'd try to separate him from that bible. It may be some kind of medium for him."   
Spawn nodded and dove off of the river bank His big boots sent mud splattering in all directions when he hit the ground. He got his footing and sprinted out toward the bums in the middle of the river.   
"Go!" he shouted as he passed the first ones. "Run for your lives."   
They ran.   
Rice looked miffed. "I should have known you would be trouble." he shouted down as Spawn ran up below him.   
"Come on down." said Spawn. "We can talk about it." His chains snapped out and wrapped around a rusty hulk that used to be a refrigerator. They snatched it up out of the mud as if it weighed nothing and heaved it through the air towards Rice. The old appliance struck the levitating Rice and knocked him out of the air. He came down hard, slamming into the muck with an audible SMACK! Spawn's cape poured like a liquid in Rice's direction and wrapped around the bible in his hands. It yanked it from his clutches and tossed it into the air. His chains sprouted barbs, grabbed the bible out of the air and ripped it apart.   
Something fell out of the torn cover of the book, something very un-book like. It looked like a worm or centipede, but barbed and dangerous looking. It landed in the mud and began to shriek and writh, as if in pain. It was about three inches in diameter and about a foot and half long. How it fit into that little bible cover, Al had no idea.   
He was staring at it, dumb-founded when Rice landed on his back and secured him in a headlock. He was incredibly strong; Al felt like his head was being ripped from his shoulders. He reached up and raked his claws down Rice's face, pulling off strips of skin. Rice roared in his ear, an inhuman, pain filled sound. The costume jumped into the fray, latching onto Rice and trying to pull him free of it's host. Kicking and scratching, Rice was pulled off and thrown away. He hit the ground and came back up fighting. Where the skin had been ripped away from his face another kind of skin could be seen. Wrinkled, scaled, reptilian skin. Could he be a demon? wondered Al. He had no time to ponder the question as Rice was on him again. He was sporting claws at his fingertips now and embedded them in Spawn's throat. Spawn threw his fists into his opponent, letting the barbs on his gloves tear into Rice's gut. It only seemed to make Rice more angry. He pulled out Al's throat and shoved it into his face. Spawn hit him hard in the face, knocking Rice head over heels. He hacked green, glowing blood out of the hole in his throat and closed in on Rice.   
A loud bellow ( not unlike a donkey with a hot potato shoved up it's ass ) stopped Al in his tracks. He sensed something right behind him. Something big. He turned to see the book-worm-thing towering over him. It had grown. It was now about three feet in diameter and about 36 feet long. It's mouth was lined with appendages with hooks on the end that were clenching and unclenching. They looked like that were beckoning him into it's mouth. That mouth looked large enough to swallow him whole. It lunged down and tried to do just that. He was grabbed into it's maw and yanked violently up into the air. He could feel the symbiote trying to defend him but if had been caught off guard just as he was. The cape sealed itself around the head of the monster, trying to seal off it's air supply. The chains wrapped around it's neck and tightened, sinking their barbs into it's flesh. The worm bit down, trying to bite Al in half He slashed, punched, and bit, trying to get free. Acids were rising up out the thing's belly and burning his flesh. He gritted his teeth and fought harder.   
The worm did a face plant, slamming the lower half of his body into the ground. He felt things down there snap. He used precious hell power to heal it. It did it again, breaking the bones in different places. He couldn't afford to keep using his hell power like this. He would have to use it on the creature itself. He reached deep down into his mind, touched the energy waiting there and channeled it outward. Green light exploded from his fingers and tore into the monstrous worm. The head that was holding onto him disintegrated. and he was let loose to fall free. He hit the ground and the headless corpse of the worm landed next to him with a wet thud.   
Gasping for breath, he got to his feet. Rice was no where to be seen. Obviously he had used the opportunity the worm provided him to make a run for it. Al looked to the riverbank and saw that the bums had reached the safety of the shore. Just in time, too, it would seem. Al could see cracks forming and spreading like spider webs across the ice holding back the river. He limped towards the riverbank as quickly as he could. The going was slow. His bones were broken and it would take precious seconds to heal them. The ice wall began to crumble. He had to do something, and quick. What the hell? he thought. How much power had he already used today? What would a little more matter? As the water crashed down on him he closed his eyes and disappeared in a flash of green fire and the stench of brimstone. 

Cog found Al lying on his back at the base of the pile of garbage that made up his throne. When he had teleported out of the way of the rushing river he had held the picture of the throne in his mind and hoped that he would be deposited there. It had worked. Too hurt to move, he just lay where he landed and tried to recover. As the old man approached, the symbiote began to twitch, like a disturbed cat will twitch it's tail. It sensed that it's host was injured and wasn't letting anybody get too close to him. Cog kept his distance, seeing no reason to upset the creature.   
"You did good." said Cog. Compliments didn't come often from that old man so Al took it to heart.   
"What was that thing?" he asked, his voice a pained groan.   
"A Chrellian Tapeworm. They grow in the small intestines of very powerful devils. They feed off of the shit of a demon for a few thousand years, all the while absorbing it's powers. They in turn become very powerful. There not very intelligent but the can be used to channel power and work spells. It's probably what Rice was using to perform all his miracles. It's funny. All those people thinking they had witnessed the wonders of God and they were looking at parlor tricks powered by a worm born and raised in devil shit."   
"What about Rice? Did that little bastard get away?"   
"Yes." said Cog. "On the other side of the river. He is hurting, though. He's just a low level demon with not much power of his own. Without the worm he won't be able to perform his miracles and dazzle people into giving him their souls. He'll probably have to trade all the souls he has if he wants to get a new one."   
"I wish I had gotten him."   
"You did enough for today. You stopped a devil from stealing souls and saved your friends from being murdered. And most importantly, you have their faith back. They believe in you again.   
So, relax, Al. You can get Rice another day, if we see him again. For the time being, rest up. You never know who might show up tomorrow." The old man walked out of the dead end alley, leaving the Hellspawn to lick his wounds.   


* * *

  
Well that was the last issue of my three issue Spawn miniseries. I hope you liked it. If you have any comments, complaints, critiques, or cursewords, send them my way by e-mailing me at this addy bcampo@hotmail.com I'm a big boy and can handle it if you have problems with a story. I only ask if that you tell me I suck, you tell me why I suck. Tell me what's wrong with the writing. I may not agree with you, but I will listen to you. Thanks for reading..   
  
  
  



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